


Midnight Blue

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments and thoughts after an explosion and an agent fears the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Blue

Midnight Blue.  The sky wasn’t really black as he’d always thought.  It was midnight blue.  He gasped as he tried to sit up a bit.  His side was on fire and he was teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. 

 _I can’t pass out, not yet,_ he thought.  _Not until I know he’s okay._

 He stared back into the night.  For some reason the fact that the moon colored the landscape soft silvers and blues helped make him feel so alone.  His partner was out there, somewhere, hopefully still safe and functioning. 

They’d been sent in to take the plant down and they had, in a rather spectacular fashion.  He smiled tightly at the thought of the explosion.  Research had done their jobs well with those little devices.  No one had counted on the Innocent following them in, getting snatched, and them having to find her.

 _Stupid really, should have let her die instead of taking a bullet for her._ He managed to move the field dressing a bit, lessening the burning.

 _Where are you?_ he thought again, looking back up into the blackness…. no, the blueness of the sky.Black was the color of his blood-slicked clothes, black were his thoughts should something happen to his partner, black was the reality of his life should he have to suddenly face it alone.  He stopped then, turning his head at the mere whisper of a sound, hoping beyond hope.

Nothing.  The breeze was teasing him, making the leaves whisper, offering him false promises.  He glanced at his watch.  He’d give him ten more minutes and then start a rescue mission.  All he had to do was find the strength to get to his feet, find the resolve to stumble down the hill and through the rubble, finding the skill to avoid the distant ominous gunfire and even more ominous mini explosions.

He lifted the communicator, too long silent, and pulled open the antennae.

“Open Channel D,” he whispered.  He had no strength to do any more.  Red was starting to cloud his vision.  “Emergency… we need backup… agent down…”

“What is your location?”

_His location?  He was bleeding out in the middle of some nameless forest because some idiot woman couldn’t do what she was told… and God only knew about his partner… his… friend._

“Agent down,” he murmured again and coughed, gasping at the pain.  “Help… us…”  He never thought he’d use that phrase.   He lost the will to hold the hand up any longer.  He let it fall and the communicator with it.

“Forget this,” he murmured to the uninterested forest.  Through sheer will, he groped his way to his feet, holding on to a tree for support.  He bit his tongue and his lip in an effort to keep from making too much noise. 

Somehow, standing seemed to help a little, although he was dizzy.  He waited for a moment and then attempted a step.  His legs cooperated, not enthusiastically, but they kept him upright.  He took a deep breath.  Better. 

He’d managed to move a few dozen yards from his resting spot when he spotted the feet, clad in combat boots.  Boots frightening similar to his… UNCLE issued boots.   Adrenaline pushed him forward, giving him the strength he’d fought for a second earlier.

The body was face down, draped over a second, obviously caught in a last act of protection.  His heart caught at the unseeing eyes of the Innocent.  She’d learned the ultimate punishment for not listening to people… and that’s when he saw the blond hair peeking out from beneath the watch cap.

He fell to his knees, clutching the body, desperate to know, but too terrified to turn it over, for fear of that most terrible of answers.  Tears rolled down his dirt-streaked cheeks and he swallowed vainly at the lump in his throat.

He probed the neck for a pulse, for any sign of life. “Oh, God, please…”  Nothing.  His partner was gone.  He gathered the limp body, holding it close and let his emotions take him.  Tears blurred his vision, ripped his throat.  Then a hand slipped over his, a large, capable hand, a hand warmed from life and gunfire.  He looked from the velvet midnight blue of the night to his partner’s face and gasped.

“I’m guessing Lafferty didn’t make it.  Poor bastard.”  He smiled, understanding what he was seeing and determined to make it all right.  “Let’s get you fixed up, Napoleon.”

Then the night went from midnight blue to a comforting blanket of black that settled upon him, tucked in around the edges.  _Soft, warm, and safe… in his partner’s arms…_

 

 

 


End file.
